


adore

by divinetock3



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Valentine's Day, basically an excuse to fawn over mr grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinetock3/pseuds/divinetock3
Summary: at bruce wayne's valentine's day party, reader and dick realize they only want to spend time with each other.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 123





	adore

**Author's Note:**

> song: adore you by harry styles (aka all i've listened to since december)  
> well!!!! valentines day is not too far out and i'm feeling gross & sappy, so i figured i'd channel it for good instead of embarrassing myself as per usual. i wish u all the best holiday and that no matter what u spend it happy, alone or not (just know that i love u) <33333

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Me neither.”

“Wow, that just...really inspires confidence.”

“Oh, c’mon, you know I hate this. Probably more than you.”

“That’s—” Actually, it’s probably true.

The arm she has wrapped herself around is snug and tight. He’s wearing a suit and tie, something she’s never seen him in before and, frankly, she won’t be forgetting anytime soon. It’s annoying how handsome he can be; worse is that he knows it. Fortunately he doesn’t let it get to his head—on most days.

The ballroom of Wayne Manor has been transformed, decorated by a number of nameless workers: red and pink and silver hearts hang from the domed ceilings like suspended snowflakes, glittering and swaying as they dangle; an arch of similarly colored balloons all tied together that stretches for several yards sits above a table full to the brim with sparkling drinks and heart- and arrow-shaped cakes, cookies, and any other dessert that can come to mind; red and white roses line the bannister of the winding staircase as all of Gotham City’s most glimmering residents make their dramatic entrances. 

A Valentines’ party. She never would’ve pegged Bruce as the type, and he isn’t—it’s all some charity event for the Dent campaign, Bruce securing his spot as most useful billionaire within city limits. And kissing ass on top of it. A win-win, truly. 

Dick is less than enthused. She knows him well enough to know that, really, he doesn’t mind being paraded as the go-getter, Golden Retriever-type Bruce tries to paint him as to the public. It is who he is, quite frankly; she knows firsthand. He cherishes Bruce’s opinion of him, but she can’t help noticing that lately he’s been more and more...independent. Spending less time with Bruce in the Manor, taking up cases without his input, going out at night while Bruce does his own thing. She can only imagine the arguments the two of them must have on the matter while they’re downstairs in the cave.

He’s been spending a lot of time with her, too. Not that she’s complaining, but she sure as hell won’t let Dick know that she likes being around him. _You’re my annoying little friend,_ she makes a point of saying to him as often as she can without being obvious. Emphasis on _little_ considering he towers over her and, it’s safe to say, is a teensy bit stronger than her. (He enjoys driving that point home when he swings her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing.)

“‘I would _love_ to host your party at my place, Harvey,’” says Dick in a low voice, a poor man’s imitation of Bruce, as they descend the stairs. Eyes gravitate to them. [Name] shrinks beneath the attention; Dick doesn’t seem to notice. “‘No, Alfred and Dick won’t mind! I’ll toss them in the corner while you stink my house up with all your elitist, posh, asshole fri—’ Where _is_ Alfred, actually?”

“Hiding away?” she suggests.

“Smart man. He’s always been the best of us.”

They reach the bottom of the staircase, hands reaching out to shake Dick’s. [Name] gets pushed aside and gladly allows herself to be. It’s the combination of, in Dick’s adequate words, these _elitist, posh assholes_ ’ mere presence and their wandering eyes, seeking out something to fit their horrible liking, that she really, really loathes. She doesn’t want to be desirable to these type of people. How Bruce can surround himself with them on a daily basis...No wonder he goes crazy and dresses like a bat. It seems like the only rational response, really.

All the while, Dick keeps an arm secured around her waist. It’s a small touch—an afterthought—but it makes her forcibly polite smile a little less cold to know that even among a group of people, he’s seeking her out. 

_I really don’t like him, though. Seriously._

“And who’s this?” one woman asks in a much too-loud voice, her painted smile looking like it was molded with wax. She reaches a hand out to [Name]’s shoulder, her talon-like nails brushing against her skin, producing a shiver.

Dick says, “This is [Name]—”

“Are you two...y’know...an item?” ventures a man, a classist laugh within reach.

Dick offers a tight-lipped smirk. “No, no, not like that.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Believe me, I’m trying to convince her, though.”

She can’t help rolling her eyes. “In your dreams, playboy.”

The group that has gathered around them bursts with laughter. Unfortunately, she has just won their love, and they begin peppering her with questions: Where are you from? Where do you school? What are you going to major in? How did you and Dick meet? Did you ever picture yourself getting the honor to venture through Wayne Manor so freely?

The latter makes her want to snap, play up the act of dimwitted girl that can be won over with jewels and stacks of cash while people are out there starving and losing their homes. But she keeps a polite smile all the while, telling them what they want to hear and trying to be as brief and break away at any given opportunity.

Sensing her suffering, Dick finds an out and they stroll away from the group and off to the food table, seeking peace. “See? You held your own,” he says.

“I was barely clinging on,” she says. She grabs the nearest drink—some peach-colored concoction—and takes a sip. Sweet, fruity. She likes it, and grabs another glass to shove in Dick’s hand. “If Dante could see this place, he would’ve crafted a tenth circle of Hell.”

He just barely holds back a laugh. “You did well,” he says again, reassuring.

“ _You_ sure make it look easy.”

Dick raises a shoulder in a lame half-shrug, taking a sip of his own drink. “I was raised into it. You get used to the pawing and the fake laughing.”

“It’s a mystery as to how you’re so…”

“Wise? Funny? Breathtaking?”

“Sane,” she settles on, an eyebrow arched.

His voice lowers, and he leans in closer (which she positively _hates_ ). “Some would say running around in tights and a cape isn’t the most sane pastime.”

“Not so different from them,” she says, indicating the crowd. “They’ve traded the tights and cape for suits and dresses, but…”

“It’s still the circus?” he offers.

“Precisely.”

“Congratulations, [Name], you’re officially the smartest person in the room. That’s really saying something considering I’m here.” He clinks his glass with hers. “And, if I may say, most beautiful.”

“Oh, God—”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re exhausting, Dick.”

“Is this new?” His fingers clasp a piece of the material of her dress.

“You should know. You’re the one who insisted on buying it.”

Dick tuts his tongue. “Technically, Mr. Bruce Wayne made this purchase. He suggested I take you out to dinner—which I did—but he didn’t find out until later that we made an...impulse buy.”

“Suggested dinner? Did he, now?”

Dick slips his arm back around her waist. “I think he wants us together more than I do.” His gaze venture out to the dancefloor. The sudden glint in his eye is dangerous, and [Name] already knows she’s in for an awful night. “Care to dance?”

Right as her mouth opens to protest, he cuts her off: “Don’t say you can’t dance. I’ve seen you jumping around your bedroom more times than I can count. Now, come on.”

And before she can try again to fight back, Dick is dragging her out to the floor. A band has been playing so beautifully ever since they walked in—instrumentals of all the best romance songs since the early twentieth century. She can’t help feeling enchanted when Dick’s hand fits to her waist and her arm slips around his shoulder, fingers finding the little pieces of hair at the nape of his neck.

There’s a weightlessness she feels whenever Dick has his hands on her or he’s staring so intently in her face the way he is right now. It makes her want to talk a mile a minute, but also never open her mouth again for fear of what horrifyingly vulnerable thing will escape from it. She really, really detests that he’s the only person that makes her feel seen when he looks at her.

“This is nice,” he says softly. “See? I know what I’m talking about.”

“Maybe you do,” she says. She tips her head back to look at the hearts hanging over them. 

_Did you ever picture yourself getting the honor to venture through Wayne Manor so freely?_ It was backhanded, but [Name] has to admit that the answer is obvious: no, never. This isn’t her scene. Befriending Dick, coming to the Manor, meeting Bruce, discovering their secrets—all of it had been this crazy domino effect that she really didn’t agree to before embarking on. She never would’ve guessed that this is where life would’ve landed her. The man and his adopted son she grew up seeing on the news are suddenly a large part of her life. Nobody would guess that for themselves.

It’s hard to strike gold in Gotham City. Somehow, she has.

“It’s really pretty,” she says, neck craned back as she keeps looking.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, his eyes still on her.

“A little gaudy and Hallmark-y, but it’s nice for—”

“An act?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a little sad it’ll have to come down,” says Dick.

“Well, it isn’t now, so let’s enjoy it.”

And enjoy they do. They commence dancing for well over an hour. They crack jokes and stare at the people around them; they drink; they play a game where they try and come up with the most pompous names for each person they dance past. Eventually her head is on his chest and he has both his arms around her back, holding her in place. She isn’t normally a lightweight, but drinking so fast on an empty stomach is threatening to make her sleepy. So when Dick says, “Bruce is about to go on stage. Do you wanna go upstairs?” she more than jumps on the occasion.

They take a handful of cookies each, new glasses of whatever the hell they’ve been drinking, and sneak away from the crowd right as the band stops and Bruce Wayne steps on stage to roarous applause, plastering a humbled smile on his face.

Mostly everyone is down in the ballroom, but they come across the occasional giggling couple or a lost drunkard wandering the halls. At one point Dick has to stop and guide an old man back downstairs before returning to her minutes later as she’s munching on the cookies he had her hold. He offers his arm again and says, “Shall we?”

Dick opens the door to one of many guest bedrooms. Inside is a couple, fully-clothed, fooling around on the bed. They don’t even notice they’ve been intruded upon. With a small “Sorry,” Dick shuts the door again. [Name] isn’t a prude, but her face is burning. Standing in the hallway, their eyes meet, and they burst into laughter.

Minutes later they’re jogging across the manor and making their way to Bruce’s bedroom—“Nobody’ll be in there; he keeps it locked down”—and picking the lock. Dick gets the door open within seconds. He sweeps an arm. “Ladies first.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Grayson.”

The bedroom is vast and desolate of personal belongings. It’s precisely what she imagined from put-together Bruce and his bachelor persona. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a generous view of the glittering driveway and the flowing Greek fountain and the expansive night sky, stars shimmering. She can just barely hear the rustle of the party continuing on without them, Bruce’s voice muffled. The occasional laugh rises up. 

Dick locks the door behind them and hops on the bed, picking at his first cookie. He has his legs crossed at the ankle. “These are really, really good.” In her haze, she realizes they could’ve just gone to Dick’s room, but it was his idea to come _here_. Perhaps a small rebellion of sorts. She decides not to bring it up; Dick is in such a good mood tonight.

Somewhere in their adventures he had unbuttoned his jacket, his white shirt beneath a little wrinkled. The tie lays haphazardly down his chest. He looks irritatingly handsome, roguish. She hates him. 

“We should’ve grabbed a piece of cake,” she says, coming to join him. She knees onto the bed, being careful with her dress.

“Shit. You’re right. I could so go for some cake.”

“Later.”

“Later,” he promises.

“How many drinks have we had?”

Dick stops mid-chew and, dumbfounded, holds out seven fingers with a shrug.

She bursts out laughing, touching his chest as she leans forward with the momentum. The open-mouthed smile and laugh he’s giving are so cute that she starts laughing even harder, almost snorting with the force of it. 

“You’re my best friend,” she says once she’s calmed, although the barest of laughs still trails on her lips.

Dick lays a hand on his chest, nearly flat on his back on the bed. “Me? I’m honored.”

“Am I yours?”

“Most certainly,” he says. “Actually, now that I think about it, you and Alfred have a tight race.”

“I have my work cut out for me,” [Name] says.

“Yes, you do.” She’s leaning over him, any excuse to touch him as she leans on his sternum. “Don’t do that,” he says in a suddenly serious tone.

Mistakenly, she thinks he means touch him, so she scoots farther back, removing her hand, but Dick catches her wrist so quick that she almost jumps—she’s surprised she hadn’t, actually. She isn’t sure what she did wrong. “Don’t do what?” she asks, timid.

“You look so…” Dick’s voice trails off. His free hand gestures vaguely through the air. 

“Yes?”

But his mind is elsewhere, and he sits up on an elbow. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone? Not even Bruce?”

“Why would I go telling Bruce anyways?”

“I don’t know, I just had to...make sure. Do you promise?”

He’s so suddenly serious that she instantly says, “Yes. What is it?”

“I don’t…” He rubs a hand over his mouth, trying to clear his thoughts enough to get this out as coherently as possible. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and I’ve even planned it out, but I think the time has come where I don’t...I don’t want to be Robin anymore. I want to do something else. Still help people, y’know?”

It doesn’t surprise her. She’s been expecting something like this with how he’s been acting lately. She just isn’t sure how Bruce’ll feel about it. “Like what?”

“Gordon and I have been talking. I think I might want to be a detective.”

“The guys over there will treat you well.”

“Not in Gotham,” he says. Hesitates. “I’ve been thinking about Blüdhaven.”

“Blüdhaven?” She knows barely anything about the town: half an hour away, high crime rate, former whaling port. Of all places, she can’t guess why someone would want to drop everything to move there.

“Nobody patrols it,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Bruce and I have gone there once, twice, and it’s awful there. A place like that needs protecting.”

They sit in an odd silence for a short while: Dick staring in her face, gauging her reaction; and [Name] trying to decide how to react. Ultimately, she blurts out the first thing to come to mind: “I admire you, Dick.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”

“Not a lot of people spend their time trying to mould their future based on who needs help. It’s so selfless.”

“You’d do the same,” he says with the same one-shoulder shrug as earlier in the evening.

“I’m not,” she says with a humorless laugh. “ _You_ are.”

“Well—”

“I’m not trying to put myself down. I’m just saying. Now take the damn compliment.”

Dick hangs his head, amused. “Thank you.”

Silently, she offers a hand, and he gladly takes it. He rubs his thumb over the back of her knuckles, lost in thought as he watches the path he traces.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, boy.”

“I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Shoot.”

Dick shifts his weight. “How about you come with me?”

[Name]’s eyebrows shoot upwards. It’s unfortunate he’s asking when he’s looking up at her through his lashes and still wearing that damn suit; anything he comes up with right now will sound like a great idea. She can’t keep her thoughts straight. The alcohol certainly isn’t helping. “Wh-what?”

“You could be my Lucius. We can partner up.”

“Dick, I’ve never done any of that stuff.”

“But you could—so easily. You’re smart and you have the heart. You would do so well.”

“I think you’ve had too many drinks.”

“I’m dead serious, [Name]. Come to Blüdhaven with me.”

“I’m happy in Gotham,” she says, then cringes. “Well, I’m happy. Gotham has nothing to do with it. But, Dick, my family is here. I’m starting school this fall, and I was going to talk to the landlord about renting out that place I was telling you about—”

“You’d be thirty minutes out from your family. There’s the subway to school. And we’ll find an apartment together. I can make you breakfast in bed. We can find somewhere that overlooks the water. We could get a dog and take it for walks around the park.”

 _I want those things with you—all of it. I want the domesticity and the thoughtless joy of being in the presence of the one person in the world that makes existing easy. I want to share a bed with you. I want to make sure you’re eating. I want your face to be the one I come home to—but I also want to live my own life, and that life is in Gotham, and I don’t know why but it just is. There’s something unknown here for me and I don’t think I could call Blüdhaven home, even if you’re there._ But he’s hanging on so strongly and she doesn’t want to ruin their fun evening that she settles for, “I’ll think about it.”

Dick nods. “Ok. I’ll take that.” He settles back on the bed with what looks like relief. It must’ve been eating him up. “How do you think Bruce will feel?”

“He’ll be proud, but I think you’ll be a missing puzzle piece in his life. He’s so isolated, he needs someone there to rouse him.”

“He has Gordon, Alfred, Lucius—he’ll be alright.” But it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than her. “My buzz is killed.”

“My head’s still a little fuzzy.”

“I got too worked up. Sobered me up.”

“I can get more drinks?” she offers.

Dick’s hand reaches out to her knee, laid bare as her dress has risen from sitting down. “Stay.” 

[Name] presses her ear to her shoulder, head cocked. Looking at him, she can’t help remembering that day they first met. It was sunny and the light was catching in his eyes. He had to squint while he talked to her. And she was...enamored. A pretty face doesn’t usually do it for her, but she felt something from him that she never felt with anyone else before: a calmness. There are very few people on the planet that she can confidently say steady her. She always feels like she’s too much; with him, she could be herself and more, even from the beginning.

Staring at the ceiling, Dick asks, “Do you remember the other day when we went to that pet store? And you were staring at the cats?”

Her eyebrows knit together. There goes her reverie. “Yeah…”

“You had this...this smile. On your face. Just pure joy and it was because of a _cat_ which is even cuter, but...Jesus...I just stared at you and tried not to get lost. Just the brightest smile I ever saw and I had this moment where I thought, ‘Wow, she chooses to spend her days with _me_.’”

“Dick…”

“I know I can be an ass and I’m always making passes…You must think I’m just like Bruce. I swear I’m not. It’s always been you. Maybe you really do just see me as your friend, which is fine, but I just want you there. That’s all I really need, y’know? I don’t need much else. And even if you don’t come to Blüdhaven with me, you’ll still be the only one that I—”

Mid-word, she kisses him. His mouth is open and hers isn’t so she catches more teeth than mouth. Just as quick she pulls away and stares in his face. He has an arm tossed lazily over his head, a stunned look on his face. “That was my first kiss,” she says.

“Ever?”

“Yes. You were talking, sorry.”

A snort, but he’s deeply stone-faced. “Are you kidding? After that?”

Dick sits up. His hair is a lot disheveled and his tie is coming loose and there’s a flush in his cheeks, and he’s never looked more gorgeous. She wants to pounce on him and just let him devour her and vice versa, but she has no clue where or how to begin.

“If I knew you’d never been kissed before, I would’ve asked to a lot sooner,” Dick says. “Jesus, it should be a crime that nobody, ever, has—And some fucking kiss _that_ was. You deserve a better first time.”

[Name] leans in and says, demure and honeyed, “You’ll have to show me, playboy.”

Dick’s lips part, considerably more lucid than he’d been seconds ago. “Gladly.”

He sits up and instinctually reaches a hand out to grasp the side of her face. She expected to have her heart racing, hands shaking, but truthfully this has never felt more right. She stares in his eyes and he stares back, then his gaze flicks down to her mouth. He leans in, then pauses. “Just...just don’t think about it too much.”

A warmth is burning in the pit of her stomach already. When his lips touch hers, they’re gentle and careful, testing. She kisses back minutely, realizing that she is only now experiencing what most people have by the time they’re entering middle school. But she really doesn’t care. Because it’s happening, finally, with the one person she trusts most.

“Was that better?” he asks.

She snorts. “I want more of you.”

Dick hums deep in his throat. The sound is unbearably attractive. “There’s no problem with that.” This time when he draws her in, it’s with parted lips. She isn’t an idiot: She opens her mouth to him and melts at the touch of his warm tongue. He’s tentative, not wanting to push too far. 

She grasps his tie and draws him down and over her as she lays back on the bed. Dick crawls over her, a knee falling between her parted thighs. He searches deeper with the kiss and she barely contains a moan into his mouth. Fingers threading through his hair; his hands sliding up her hips to her waist; the languid way he pulls her apart until, _finally_ , she understands just how easy kissing is, like breathing—this is pure bliss.

Dick’s lips search over her jaw and down her throat, teeth grazing her pulse. She has a leg drawn up around his hip, needing him even closer. But right as she starts to grind up into him, he breaks away and runs a thumb over her bottom lip. “Not here,” he says, voice gentle. “Not now.”

“Why not?”

He hesitates, aghast. “In _Bruce’s bed_?”

[Name] only then realizes where they are. A hand closes over her mouth as she tries not to burst out laughing. “That’s so gross,” she says, voice muffled.

“How do you feel about your first time fooling around being in Bruce Wayne’s bed?”

Again, she thinks about seeing the billionaire on TV as a little girl. Little did she know…“Fucking weird,” she tells Dick.

“Now imagine that but tenfold for me.”

She sits up on her elbows. “Sorry.”

“For that? Don’t be,” he says. “I want you, but I kinda want it to be perfect when the time comes.”

“Me too.”

“Although it’s a bit hard to say no when you’re wearing that and looking like that...”

“Stay focused, playboy.”

“Right, right,” he says. After pecking her lips one last time, Dick rises from the bed and offers a hand. [Name] looks at it, hovering. Even after this, she’s still going to stay in Gotham. She cares a lot about Dick, but she can’t make decisions based solely on that, even if some days it feels like the most important part of her life at the moment. She needs, desperately, to have a life outside of those around her. She needs it more than anything else.

But for now, she takes his hand.


End file.
